Kapano hated getting his hands dirty.

He hated when things didn’t go his way— when people pissed him off, his drugs went missing or were stolen, people didn’t listen —he hated people. Especially when they forced his hand, making him show just how he became a Warlord.

One so brutal that his own men feared him.

Then again, fear made everyone listen, and who was he to deny his basic pleasures? A part of him enjoyed seeing people’s eyes light up in fear, or the way they trembled when he pulled out a knife.

“Let’s try this again.” His voice is low, like the hiss of a snake as he cleaned off his hunting knife, watching it glint in the dim light of the living room. “Where are the stolen drugs and money?” Kapano rises to his feet, sneering as he points his knife at the man’s children.

The body of their Father lay at his feet, shredded into ribbons due to his egregious crime of stealing from the Warlord. No one stole from Kapano and got away with it— he made damn sure of that.

“Or would you like to end up like your pho?”

The children, two boys and one girl, were bound by their legs and wrists, lined up execution style with his bodyguards behind them, armed and ready for his signal. Kapano wasn't above killing those who got in his way, even if they were young. That was just the cruel life of those who got caught in his path.